Thoughts From An Antique Little Girl

I have an appreciation for the word antique in recent years that I’ve never had before. I looked up antique in the dictionary. It means, in part (only the positive part) “desirable because of its age, beauty, and rarity…” An antique also represents a previous era in human society. I think, although I’m not sure, that “vintage” might mean the same.

An antique has stood the test of time. It has weathered the storms, held onto life in spite of adversities, and refused to be broken or battered beyond recognition. In spite of a few dents or scratches and many precarious situations, it has survived.

Some of us furnish our houses in antiques. It’s really like taking a trip into a different era to visit these homes; fascinating places. My house has only a few antiques, but many things that are old. However, I like them. I’m comfortable with them. I think I like them because I imagine other hands that have held them or other people who have enjoyed them. They have character, a past, and if antiques could talk, each one would have a story to tell.

I even have a few dolls, a few toys, that are certainly old enough to be considered at least vintage. They bring back memories of another time, a simpler time. And, here’s a shocking discovery: I fit at least part of the definition for antique. Yes, I represent another age. Beauty? Well, they say that’s in the eye of the beholder and eyes have a way of not seeing too clearly as they age. I do represent another time period in history and, the older I get, the rarer I become. So, I’m not old-fashioned, out-of-date, or out of step with the times. Nay and forsooth! Indeed, I am that priceless and getting-rarer classic, an antique little girl.